


Searching For The Good

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Survival, Zombies, minor descriptions of violence and gore, minor mention of suicidal thoughts, not totally focused on the zombie aspect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A zombie outbreak has pretty much ended the world and Bucky is alone, intent on surviving without anyone's help. But then he meets another survivor and starts to think that maybe being alone isn't the best way to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching For The Good

Bucky took one final lingering spoonful of cold beans from the can and then threw it in the corner with a sigh. That was the last of his food. He had been holed up in this small photo store for three days and there was no way he could stay any longer without having to go and get more supplies. Apart from the constant hunt for any kind of food and hiding from those _things_ outside, the worse thing about living through the end of the world was the boredom. Unless you were lucky enough to find a bookstore that was a) empty and b) not on fire, staying in one place for three days with nothing to do was likely to send you insane, mainly because you had too long to think about everything you had lost and how the world would never be the same again.

Three days ago when he had secured everything in the store and eaten, Bucky had found two whole boxes of photographs that had obviously been developed before everything went wrong (people still used actual camera film??) and had sat and looked through them all. It all made him desperately sad though, looking at birthday parties and celebrations that would never be celebrated again. Vacations that could never happen because now everywhere was fucked. He had looked at the families in these photos; had they survived? Were they huddled up somewhere safe and together or where they outside with the rest of the people who hadn't been as lucky as him? He had burnt the photographs for warmth rather than think about it for any longer.

But now all of Bucky's food was gone and he had no choice but to move on, to hope that he could find something to eat, hope that there was somewhere safe he could stay for another few days before he had to do the whole thing again. He was exhausted; he'd barely slept for the last week, never feeling entirely safe enough in any one place, each tiny noise one of those dead things scrabbling to get at him. The only weapon he had was a length of steel pipe. He didn't use it any more than he had to.

Bucky sighed and looked out of the small peephole he had made in the newspaper covering the store window; another few hours until dawn by the looks of it. It was safer to move about during the day, under cover of course. The dead things were more sluggish, less prone to wander around in groups which is what could _really_ fuck you over. But Bucky also knew that the bigger risk of moving about during the day was other people. Other survivors couldn't necessarily be trusted. He had learned that the hard way and he wouldn't make that mistake again. Being alone was safer. Lonelier but safer. Investing in other people would just get you killed.

***

"Fuck..." Bucky hissed and ducked into the closest alleyway. He still wasn't sure if coming into the centre of the city had been a good idea. He should have stuck to the suburbs. Oh well. Too late now.

There was a large group of dead up ahead and he couldn't turn back; it was too far back to the photo store. The day was grey and dull and there were more of those things out than he had anticipated. He glanced behind him - the alleyway was empty as far as he could see so he had some cover at least. There was a sporting goods store across the street and he was pretty sure he could get to it but there was too much risk of being seen. He hesitated; what the hell was he going to do? He only had half a bottle of water left and no food. Not that he held out much hope of there being anything in the sporting goods store but at least it would be safe. He took a deep breath and weighed up his options. It would be so much easier if he wasn't so fucking _tired_.

Bucky edged out of the alleyway. The group of dead were all shuffling up the street away from him; he could run across undetected. He had done it before. He decided to chance it while he still had the nerve. Just as he started to jog quietly towards the sporting goods store, another group of dead appeared, shambling around the corner of the junction less than 300 yards away. He froze where he was but it was too late - they had seen him. Almost immediately they began to walk with purpose towards him, fifteen at least, hissing and groaning. Bucky took a few steps backward and glanced over to the other group of dead. A few had turned towards the noise and that was it - he was done. A few he could handle but not this many. He cursed himself for even thinking that this was a good idea; the sporting goods store was probably locked and then he would have been fucked anyway.

"Shit," he muttered and sprinted for the alley, praying it would lead somewhere, anywhere. He dodged piles of trash, boxes, a couple of burnt out tyres. The end of the alleyway split in two: left was a dead end, right led a little further on - he could see some dumpsters and other garbage piled at the far end. Maybe it was safe over the other side. The group of dead were starting to make their way down the alley, their groans bouncing off of the brick in eerie echoes.

Bucky ran, trying not to panic. The pile of trash he was running towards wasn't just a pile - it was a barricade; someone had gone to great lengths to make it hard to climb over. He stopped dead and looked for a foothold, anything. The groans behind him were growing louder and he was starting to lose it but he couldn't, not now, he had to keep calm, not cry, try to -

"Hey!"

Bucky started, looking around.

"Up," the voice called and Bucky's head snapped up to see someone on one of the roofs above him, peering down. It was a guy but he could only tell that from the voice. He was wearing a blue beanie and a red bandana covered the bottom half of his face. Bucky floundered. It was the first living person he had seen for nearly five weeks.

"You can climb over, it's clear on the other side. I can guide you to somewhere safe."

Bucky stared up, incredulous. "How can I trust you?" he shouted back.

If the guy was offended by Bucky's defensiveness he didn't show it. "Well, you can't. But there's only one of me and at least thirty of them." He pointed towards the steadily nearing horde. "Your call." He disappeared from sight.

Bucky cussed quietly and started to scramble desperately up the mound of trash, his heart racing. He made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder; the alleyway was crammed with living corpses, the closest one only a few metres from the trash heap. He moved faster and managed to climb ungracefully up the barricade, scattering garbage bags as he went, peering over the other side when he finally made it to the top. The guy was right - it was clear. Bucky wasn't sure how well those things could climb but he didn't want to stay and find out. He all but tumbled to the other side, landing hard on the concrete below. He jumped back as the barricade started to move dangerously, no doubt from the force of all the bodies behind it trying to get to him.

"Follow me." The guy was back, looking down at Bucky from the roof above. "Keep moving, don't stop." He started to run. Bucky followed.

"Okay, up ahead, take a left. Don't look right. Just trust me."

Bucky had no other choice but to take the guy's word for it; he had no idea where he was, stuck in a network of alleyways and service yards connecting stores and restaurants. One wrong move and he would be dead. He turned left at the next junction, hearing moans and scuffling to his right. They sounded far away enough but he was going to trust the guy on the roof top and not look back to confirm it. He glanced up as he ran; the guy would disappear for a short time and then reappear up ahead, looking down at him. How was he moving between the buildings? He could only be jumping between them which was pretty gutsy; there was a good four metres separating most of them. He could see another junction up ahead. Behind him, the moans of the dead were growing louder. They weren't too close but Bucky knew that the noise was from the sheer number of them now; the other horde must have broken through the barricade.

"Okay, one more left and you're nearly there," the guy called down to him and ducked out of sight again.

Bucky bolted around the corner and nearly started to cry when he saw what was up ahead: It was a dead end. An eight foot brick wall blocked any further attempt at escape. There was one dumpster resting against the wall but that was it.

"You fucking bastard!" Bucky screamed up at the rooftop.

The guy appeared again and pointed at the dumpster. "Move that over to the drainpipe; there are footholds in the wall. You can jump down onto the boxes below. I'll meet you on the other side."

Bucky looked back; the first few corpses were rounding the corner, the noise growing when they spotted him. He quickly moved the dumpster to the drainpipe and hoisted himself up. The guy was right; there were carefully crafted footholds either side of the pipe. He started to climb the wall, clinging to the drainpipe and hoping that it wouldn't suddenly break and send him crashing back into the infested alleyway below. The moans and hisses were louder now and it was all he could do to not look down.

He reached the top of the wall and saw there was a pile of cardboard boxes and trash bags spilling shredded paper, the kind offices often discarded. Bucky frowned as he prepared to let himself fall onto the garbage below. He had trusted the guy this far; there was no point in not trusting him all the way now. The alleyway below was clear and quiet. He took a deep breath and jumped.

The boxes and bags of shredded paper took the brunt of his jump and he rolled from them onto the hard floor, breathing hard, coming down from the rush of adrenaline and fear. He was exhausted. He heard a clang and looked up. The guy from the roof was descending a fire ladder further down the alley. Bucky watched him as he climbed, the cacophony of groans muffled now by the brick wall to his left.

The guy dropped the last few feet to the ground and walked towards him. He was shorter than Bucky had guessed and wiry. Bucky couldn't help but tense as the guy neared him but then he pulled down his bandana revealing a friendly smile.

"So you made it."

Bucky wiped the sweat from his forehead and brushed his long hair back from his face, still wary. "Yeah."

"Come on," the short guy said and cocked a thumb behind him. "My place isn't far. As safe as we are from those things on the other side, I'd rather not risk the noise drawing in more."

Bucky nodded and followed the guy as he jogged. He took a left up ahead into a narrower opening between the buildings and shouldered aside a dumpster. There was a door behind it with a faded "Staff Only" sign on the front. It must lead to one of the stores or restaurants on the street.

The guy reached under his jacket and pulled out a key on a long chain around his neck. He started to unlock a heavy padlock on the door and opened it. "Go on in."

Bucky hesitated. This could still be a trap. The guy could be a weirdo - there were enough of them about now. At least the dead were predictable; the living were a whole different matter.

The guy's face softened a little. "I'm asking you to trust me one more time."

Bucky realized that he was too exhausted to stand here worrying about whether or not the guy was a cannibal and walked through into the darkness beyond. The guy followed, inching the dumpster back across the door as best he could as he closed it, swallowing them up in darkness. Bucky tensed.

"Just a sec," the guy said and there was a moment of scuffling before a dim light filled the room. Bucky blinked. He was in what looked like a small store room; the light came from an LED camping lantern hung on a coat hook by the door and the short guy was winding a chain through the inside door handle to a heavy loop of metal on the wall. He secured it with another padlock. "Can't be too careful."

Bucky glanced around as the guy also pushed a heavy crate in front of the door. The store room was haphazard, filled with flatscreen TVs still in their boxes, a pile of Nintendo 3DS's, stereos, Blu-Ray players. Great. He'd managed to find the one looter left in the city, stuck with him in a room full of things that couldn't be used anymore.

The guy let out a comical woof of breath and turned to Bucky, pulling his beanie off to reveal a scruffy crop of blond hair. "That's the most excitement I've had for weeks. Are you okay?"

Bucky nodded.

"I'm Steve," the guy said and held out a hand, that friendly, open look still on his face.

Bucky looked down at his hand but didn't take it. "Bucky."

Steve closed his hand and let it drop to his side. "Good to meet you."

Bucky shifted on his feet, still trying to figure out what this guy was getting at.

Steve cleared his throat and walked over to another door and unlocked yet another padlock. "You must be hungry," he said and opened the door, stepping in and switching on another couple of camping lanterns.

Bucky could hardly believe what he was seeing when he cautiously stepped inside after Steve: metal shelves lined the walls filled with cans and bottled water, dried fruit, bags of lentils and dried beans, Slim Jims, soda, flashlights, lanterns, books, board games. An air bed was set up in one corner piled with blankets. A crate next to it held a water bottle and a small stack of novels. There was a gas camping stove and a stack of saucepans and plates. One shelf held neatly folded clothes, camping gear, boots. There were several golf clubs, long-handled hammers, axes, knives, baseball bats, even a damn hockey stick on another shelf. He gawped; it was like a survivalist's dream.

"What the fuck..." he muttered, letting his steel pipe which he had been holding the whole time drop to the floor with a clank. "How long have you been here?"

"About four months," Steve said. "Getting good at the whole scavenging thing." He watched Bucky as he picked up some tinned peaches, shaking his head.

Bucky looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "Why did you help me?"

Steve sighed and folded his arms. "You're the first living person I've seen for over two months that hasn't been armed to the teeth and ready to shoot me. You looked like you needed help. I have plenty to share. If you're going to hurt me and take my stuff, you can do it now. I'm kind of hoping you won't."

Bucky put the tinned peaches down. "I would only hurt you if I had to. I'd rather not hurt anyone."

Steve's shoulders relaxed a little. "Me too. Doesn't seem to be the way with everyone."

Bucky knew that all too well. He considered Steve; he wasn't hysterical, he wasn't twitchy. He was eerily jovial which threw Bucky a little but then his own default setting had been mostly fear and anger since this whole thing had started. Steve didn't seem like a bad guy. Kind of naive, maybe.

Steve indicated to another door. "If you want to clean up, there's a bathroom." He walked over and opened it, turning on another light. There was a toilet and basin in the room and water cooler bottles stacked floor to ceiling almost. Some damp clothes hung over a few of them. "The toilet doesn't flush, obviously, but you can pour enough water down to get rid of any, uh, mess. I use the bigger bottles of water for washing too; I can heat you up some but it takes ages. I kind of got used to just using it cold. There's a big plastic tub in there that you can kind of squeeze into if you want a pseudo bath but I use it as a kind of wet room. There's a drain in the floor."

Bucky stared at the toilet. He couldn't even remember the last time he had used one. There was even toilet paper. For some insane reason, that made him want to cry: That one tiny forgotten luxury. He took a trembling breath.

"I'd like to clean up," he said quietly.

Steve smiled and walked over to one of the shelves. He rummaged for a moment and then handed Bucky a toothbrush, toothpaste, a sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms. "Take your time. Hopefully these will fit. We can wash your clothes tomorrow and I'll grab you some new stuff too. I'll make us something to eat."

Bucky shrugged off his backpack and leaned it against the wall. He hesitated before he went into the bathroom. "I'm sorry I called you a fucking bastard."

Steve laughed and it was a confusing sound; confusing because it didn't fit here, in this shitty new world full of every horrible thing suddenly come to life and confusing because it had been so long since Bucky had just heard someone _laugh_. "I've been called worse."

***

Steve had shower gel. That smelled like _apples_. Bucky couldn't get enough and he stood in the middle of the bathroom naked, washing and re-soaping until he used up almost the whole damn bottle. Then he washed his hair with coconut shampoo, scrubbing at it and watching the grime wash away as he rinsed. He felt like a new man. Almost.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp and in his new clothes that made him want to curl up in a ball and sleep forever, Steve was cooking something in a saucepan over the little gas stove. He smiled up at Bucky. "Feel good?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah." He sounded more relaxed.

"Coffee?" Steve asked.

Bucky sank to the floor opposite him. "You have coffee?"

Steve handed him a mug with a really ugly picture of a Cocker Spaniel on the side. "I have lots of stuff."

Bucky took a sip of the coffee and made an embarrassing noise. It was rich and hot. He glanced up at Steve but he was just stirring whatever was in the pan. It smelled really good.

"It's just baked beans with Spam," Steve said, "but it's good. I hated Spam before but I'm kind of addicted to the stuff now."

"I'd pretty much eat anything at this point," Bucky said and suddenly remembered the day he had eaten a can of dog food because it was all he had been able to find. He was ashamed by the memory and took another sip of coffee. He looked around Steve's little den again. Another air bed had been inflated a few feet from the other with a sleeping bag and some blankets neatly folded on top.

"You can move that anywhere you want," Steve said quickly when he spotted Bucky staring. "I'm not expecting you to sleep next to me. You can sleep wherever you feel most comfortable. If you wanted to lock yourself in the bathroom, I'd understand."

Bucky had considered it but he thought that after eating, he'd be too tired to do anything but crawl over to the bed and sleep. He just shrugged in response.

Steve spooned beans and Spam into a bowl and handed it to Bucky. It could have been a fillet steak - Bucky hadn't eaten anything this satisfying for a long time. As with the shower, he felt better afterwards, more like he was coming back to himself. He sat with his back against the wall, nursing another cup of coffee. Steve did the same across the room from him.

"Have you been alone from the start or were you with people?" Steve asked, breaking Bucky out of his sleepy lull.

Bucky shifted. "Alone for the most part but I was with a group for a few weeks. Didn't end up so well."

Steve nodded. "I've been alone from the start. My parents died a long time ago, friends lived in different cities. I hope they're alive but I don't hold any faith that I'll ever find them again. I decided to just try and stay alive on my own."

"Is that why you've been hiding out in here for so long?" Bucky asked.

Steve nodded and rested his head against the wall. "I was a graphic designer before. I was okay at it, no more talented than the next person. Not much good at anything else; didn't really get asked on a lot of dates, bought my clothes from JC Penney. Then the flu hit, people died, then they came back to life and everything went wrong and I found something I was _really_ good at. Surviving." He smiled wryly. "Nothing like the end of the world to make your true skill set shine through."

Bucky studied the shelves full of food and weapons. Steve certainly knew how to handle himself. "Have you killed many of them?"

"The zombies?" Steve asked.

Bucky winced. "You actually call them that?"

"Well, that's what they are, aren't they?"

"Nobody called them that, even when this all started."

Steve crossed his legs and sat up. "I can't think of any better term to describe them. They're just like they were in the movies for the most part. Although nobody ever thought this could actually happen. But it did."

"You didn't answer my question," Bucky said.

"Yes. Not many. Less than ten. I'm fast; they're easy to dodge when there aren't too many and I mainly stick to the rooftops. You?"

Bucky clutched his mug in both hands. "More than I can count."

Steve watched him for a moment. "Have you killed any people?" he asked quietly.

Bucky gripped the mug tighter. "Just one."

Steve's eyes never left him. He didn't look scared. "Did you have to?"

"Yes," Bucky said, his voice low.

Steve didn't say anything else for a while. Then he gathered up the saucepan and their bowls and put them in a basin of water. He offered Bucky some more coffee but he shook his head.

"You should sleep," Steve said. "For as long as you want. It's safe here. I'm not going to go out for a while. We have enough."

Bucky got to his feet and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth. When he went back into the store room Steve was in his own bed with just one LED lantern switched on next to his bedside crate.

"You can move your bed," he said to Bucky.

Bucky just climbed into the sleeping bag under the nest of blankets and lay down. It was so comfy; he knew his back would probably be killing him in the morning but it would be worth it. "I'm good."

"I'm going to turn the light off now."

Bucky blinked when the room went dark. He had become used to the dark; he only ever had one flashlight that had broken not long after he had found it. This time however, he felt safe in the dark rather than scared.

"Steve?" Bucky said sleepily into the darkness.

"Yeah?"

Bucky rolled onto his side. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

***

Bucky awoke feeling confused and a little groggy. He blinked and rolled over. Steve was sitting up in his own bed reading, the little LED lantern on beside him.

"What time is it?" Bucky asked

Steve put his book down. "Around 11:30am. You've been asleep for over twelve hours."

Bucky rubbed his eyes. "Shit, really? I didn't mean to be out for so long."

"Why, you got anywhere you need to be? Work? The church bake sale?"

Bucky glanced over at Steve. He was smiling wryly. "I wasn't going to stay any longer than I needed to."

"You don't have to go right away," Steve said, the smile fading. "You're not an imposition."

Bucky sat up. His back didn't feel too bad. It was nice to wake up warm and safe; to not have to worry about where his next meal would be coming from. But he couldn't stay here. "I'll head out tomorrow."

Steve looked down at his hands. "Are you going somewhere? Do you have people you need to find?"

Bucky rested his head against the wall. "I have...had family in Indiana. When everything started to go wrong we kept in constant contact but agreed that me trying to get back home wasn't a good idea, that we should see what would happen and then everything went bad. I haven't heard from them since. There's no way I can ever make it back there, I'm realistic about that. I hope they're alive but...it's easier to think that they're dead."

Steve looked at him with a frown. "Is it?"

Bucky glared at him slightly. "It is for me."

Steve picked up a water bottle and took a few swallows. "So if you aren't really going anywhere, why don't you just stay?"

Bucky threw off the covers and got to his feet, intending to have another wash in the small bathroom. "Why do you want me to stay so bad? I don't know you from Adam."

Steve drew his knees up and rested his head on his arms. He looked small then and Bucky felt a tug in his gut. "Because it's better than being alone? It would be nice to have a friend at the end of the world, don't you think?"

Bucky rested his hands on his hips and looked around at the food and the weapons. "That would be asking me to trust you."

"You've trusted me this far." Steve's eyes were sad and Bucky knew that this was just him as a person, genuine and as trustworthy as it got. Anyone else would have followed Steve back here and maybe killed him as soon as they saw this place and made it all their own. He'd seen it happen.

"What makes you think you can trust me?" Bucky asked quietly.

Steve looked momentarily scared, possibly remembering that Bucky had killed a person but then he set his jaw and his blue eyes were sharp. "If you were going to do anything, I'm pretty sure you would have done it yesterday when we got here. You're bigger than me. You had that pipe. At any point you could have smashed my head in and thrown me outside. You could have killed me in my sleep. But you didn't do any of that. Something tells me that maybe you need a friend too."

They stared each other out for a few moments and Bucky turned his back and went into the bathroom.

*** 

Went he had washed, he leaned against the cracked basin and stared at himself in the mirror attached to the wall. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes looked...they didn't look like his eyes. His eyes used to be happy and playful. Now they just looked haunted. Steve didn't have that look but despite his easy smiles, he had obviously been through a lot too, to get here the way he had. Bucky wanted to think that there were strong people left in the world like him; people who didn't want to just take for themselves. This whole thing had brought the worst out in people and Bucky had almost felt more comfortable around the dead; they were less complex while the living had mostly lost what humanity they had been clinging onto in another way entirely.

Maybe trusting someone again wouldn't be so bad, maybe he and Steve could be friends. He shook his head and splashed cold water on his face.

Steve was cooking when he went back out. He didn't look up at Bucky.

"Powdered eggs and powdered milk make an okay omelette if you add enough other stuff to cover up the actual taste. Got plenty of beans to go with it; beans with every meal for years to come. I call them Apocalypse Beans."

Bucky made them both a cup of instant coffee. He watched as Steve cooked; would it be so bad to trust him? "Sounds great."

Steve looked up and gave him a sardonic smile. "It really isn't."

"I have to ask; how were you able to move about on the rooftops so quickly?"

Steve halved the omelette and spooned beans onto a plate. "I made walkways out of wooden pallets I found. It's safer up on the roofs; I've only ever found two zombies up there and they were so decomposed that I didn't have to do much. Yesterday, I was going to go over to the sporting goods store and saw you get cut off; the walkways were already set up so it was easy for me to run and scout ahead. I can show you if you like." He handed Bucky a plate.

They ate in silence. The longer Bucky thought about it, the more he really _didn't_ want to leave. The thought of being cold and hungry and scared again just filled him with dread and hopelessness. Steve was capable and smart, that much was clear; this room was proof.

"I was thinking...I might stay. For a few days. Until I get my strength back up."

Steve's face broke into a smile. "It was my Apocalypse Beans, wasn't it?"

Bucky sighed. "Just until I feel strong enough."

"Sure," Steve said but he was smiling brightly around his mouthful of omelette and beans.

They finished their breakfast and Steve stood up. "I'll go and get you some fresh clothes that fit. Some boots too. I can't believe you got so far in a pair of Converse." He nodded to Bucky's sneakers, scruffy and falling apart. "What are you, like a size 10?"

Bucky nodded. "I thought you said you weren't going out?"

Steve grinned. "Technically, I'm not. Come and look."

They walked back through into the room filled with TVs and other electronics. Steve pointed to the pile. "There's a door behind those boxes. I've barricaded it from the other side too. It's hard to see that there's actually something back here."

Bucky frowned. "What's on the other side?"

"A camping store."

"So how are you actually going to get in there?" Bucky asked.

Steve grinned. "Through there." He pointed to the air vent a couple of feet from the ceiling. "I have a rope ladder on the store side tucked away in the vent so I can climb back up and anyone who might come into the store would never know." He started to climb carefully up some of the stacked boxes and unscrewed the vent cover. "I won't be long."

Bucky watched as Steve disappeared into the vent and listened until he couldn't hear him anymore. He stood in the silence by himself for a few moments before heading back to Steve's safe room where he paced uneasily. He was sure that Steve would be alright but he suddenly felt on edge. He noticed a few maps on the wall above Steve's airbed that he hadn't noticed before. One was of the city, heavily annotated: What roads were blocked, which areas were overrun by...Bucky couldn't bring himself to think _zombies_. The other was of the city centre and was just marked with a series of blue squares and red crosses. Bucky would have to ask Steve what they meant later.

Time passed and Bucky grew more agitated. He knew that Steve could handle himself but he went back into the other room and listened, hoping he would hear him coming back through the vent soon. He checked the crate in front of the main door and tugged on the heavy chain a couple of times. it still felt strange to think he was safe in here.

Finally he heard scrabbling in the vent and turned to look. Several plastic bags dropped out onto the ground, bouncing off of the stacks of TVs, followed by Steve.

"Miss me?" he said as he carefully fixed the vent cover back in place.

Bucky grunted and watched as Steve clambered back down the boxes. He emptied the bags and showed Bucky the contents: A couple of pairs of jeans, t-shirts and hoodies. Bucky inspected the hiking boots that Steve handed him; they were very good quality and would be a lot better than his sneakers.

"Thanks," he said.

Steve pointed to the boots. "You should probably wear those and break them in."

They went back into the safe room and Steve searched one of the shelves for something. "Want to play chess?" he asked, holding up a small wooden chess set.

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we're not going outside today and I've been dying to play. I'm not great but I enjoy it."

"Sure," Bucky said and Steve cleared his bedside crate and set it up as a little table between them and lay out the board.

"Black or white?" Steve asked.

"Black," Bucky said. It had been a while since he had played and he tried to remember all of the moves the different pieces could make. Steve let him go first and he moved a pawn.

They played for three hours. Steve chattered constantly but it was pleasant - Bucky enjoyed hearing him talk about the high school he had gone to, what foods he liked, or _had_ liked before everything ended. He didn't seem to mind that Bucky was quiet for the most part.

"Do you always talk so much?" Bucky asked, moving his queen and hoping that Steve wouldn't notice that he was closing in on his king.

"No, but I haven't spoken to anyone for a long time. Kind of feels nice to exercise the old vocal chords." He glanced up at Bucky with worry. "Is it annoying?"

Bucky grinned a little. "No."

Steve smiled that wide bright smile again. "Good. Checkmate."

Bucky frowned down at the board in disbelief. "What the fuck? You sneaky little shit!"

Steve laughed and this time, Bucky didn't find it out of place.

***

Bucky spent the rest of the evening (he only knew because Steve had an alarm clock that was roughly correct) breaking in his new boots, doing jumping jacks and running on the spot. Steve read on his bed.

"Think you'll be up for going out tomorrow?" he asked as Bucky was doing burpees.

"Yep." He straightened, a little out of breath. "I meant to ask, what's with the map? The smaller one."

Steve twisted and looked up at the wall behind him. "Ah. You might as well come and look; this could be useful to you."

Bucky walked over and Steve knelt and pointed to the blue rectangles. "These are all places that I've hidden backpacks with supplies in them. If I ever get caught out and can't get back here, at least I know that I won't be floundering in the open. You should copy it down or memorize it. Just in case."

Bucky chuffed. "That's good thinking."

Steve shrugged. "I...had nothing better to do, to be honest."

"And the red crosses?"

Steve's face darkened a little. "Yeah. Those. Those are places I got a little too cocky and...kind of nearly got myself killed. Penned in by zom - sorry, those _things_ or almost fell and broke my neck. Did something stupid. I marked them so I could remind myself to be more careful, to not think that I'm invincible. I did for a time. Got a little reckless." He bit his lip and his shoulders sagged.

Bucky considered him. "Was it deliberate?"

Steve chewed his bottom lip. He pointed to one red cross in particular. "That one was," he said softly. "I'd been alone for a long time. I couldn't see a future."

"What stopped you from going through with it?"

"A few things," Steve said. He turned to Bucky. "I'm not in that place anymore."

"I'm glad," Bucky replied and was surprised to find that he meant it. "I'm going to wash up." He quickly headed into the bathroom. He didn't want to admit to trusting Steve so soon; it could still be a mistake. But he didn't think it was. Maybe having a friend right now could save his life more than being alone would.

***

The next morning, they had breakfast and Steve packed a bag with a few supplies for their jaunt outside. Bucky picked up his steel pipe and picked up an axe from Steve's weapons cache, shoving it into his pack. Steve rummaged on one shelf and opened a box, taking something out.

"Here," he said to Bucky and passed him a key. "It's for the two padlocks to get in here. In case we get separated. It that happens we should either get to one of my supply points or come back here."

Bucky took the key. This was a cemented sign of trust between them. There was no going back now. "Thank you."

Steve smiled and headed for the door and rooted in his pockets as he went. Something fell from Steve's hand and he hastily bent to pick it up, his cheeks pink. Bucky saw the rosary beads though before Steve could shove them back into his pocket.

"You religious?"

Steve fiddled with the beads. "I was raised a Catholic. These were my mom's. We used to go to church every Sunday; I kind of stopped going regularly when my parents both died." He studied the rosary. "I still pray sometimes."

Bucky watched Steve's fingers move over the beads. "Does it help?"

Steve shrugged. "It makes me feel better. There's not a lot left in this world anymore but I take comfort in the few things I have that mean something." He looked up at Bucky. "Do you believe? In...God? Or whatever?"

"Not any more. Even if I did, I think killing someone pretty much scratched my name off of the list into heaven." He held Steve's gaze, searching for fear in those blue eyes but finding none.

"I don't think it works that way," Steve said. "You said you _had_ to kill whoever it was. Would they have hurt other people if you hadn't stopped them?"

Bucky looked away. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Then I think you did what you had to do and if there's anything out there, watching over us and judging us, I think they'd weigh the lives you saved against the other."

Bucky's faced hardened. "You can believe that if you want to but I can't." Steve was about to say something else but Bucky brushed past him to the door.

Steve tucked the rosary beads back into his pocket and followed Bucky. He didn't say anything more. He shoved the crate away from the back door with Bucky's help and unlocked the padlock.

"Wait a sec," Steve said and pulled something out from behind a box. It was a small mirror crudely attached to a long stick. Steve inched the door open carefully and slid the mirror out. "We're pretty secure here but I don't ever want to get complacent." He squinted through the gap and listened carefully. "I think we're okay. Now, we're going to go back to the point where you made it over the wall. The fire ladder I came down from leads to my bridges up on the rooftops. Stay away from the edges if you can. It's best we keep out of sight."

"Why? It's not like the _zombies_ can climb up after us, right?"

Steve started to push the dumpster away from the door, squeezing out through it. "It's not them I'm worried about," he said, lowering his voice.

Bucky followed him and used his new key to lock the door. They moved the dumpsters back in place. "Then who?"

Steve headed off down the alleyway. "Seen a group of marauders a few times. Got spotted once and they tried to chase me down. I had to stay as far away from the safe house as I could; I didn't want them to follow me back somehow. I spent a few rough nights out in the open before they gave up. They had a lot of guns."

Bucky's stomach curdled. They couldn't compete with that. As soon as society had truly fallen apart at the seams, the weak were targeted. Bucky hadn't seen any marauder groups himself but he'd seen the destruction they'd left in their wake. They didn't care who they shot - the living and the dead were the same to them, just prey to be picked off. "When was the last time you saw them?"

They reached the fire ladder; Steve took a running jump and caught the last rung, heaving himself up. "About three weeks ago? I'm hoping they've moved on but I don't want to take any chances."

Bucky followed Steve's lead and jumped for the fire ladder. They climbed up to the roof. Bucky looked around; they were five storeys up. He couldn't see much apart from the surrounding buildings, their windows blank and dead-eyed. Could there be someone watching them from those windows? He shivered. He turned away and was aware of the quiet; sure, he could hear the muted sounds of the dead from below them, but that was it. No traffic, no people. He saw a few birds pin-wheeling in the distance but he heard no dogs. He couldn't even remember when he had last seen one. As far as he could remember, the news had said that the only other mammals to be effected by the super-flu were pigs and primates. Maybe all the dogs that had survived were wild now, roaming in packs. He thought of Champ, his family's Golden Retriever; had he survived along with his mom, dad and sister?

"Come and look," Steve called. He was crouching down at the edge of the building, concealed by the low wall. Bucky made his way over and then dropped to the floor next to Steve. He looked over the edge; it was the alley with the dead end and the dumpster that he thought Steve had led him in to get him killed. It was empty now apart from two zombies. They must have been crushed underfoot from the horde that had chased him. One was motionless but the other was moving feebly. "I'll make you a map of the rooftops; it'll help to get familiar with all of this."

They moved away and Steve followed him to a wooden pallet on the floor. Steve heaved it up and lay it across the narrow gap between buildings. When they had crossed he pulled it back.

"I try not to leave them visible if I can help it. Wouldn't want anyone to spot them from below."

He proceeded to lead Bucky around the rooftops, showing him the streets below. The dead were sparse today but Bucky could spot some clusters at the intersections, almost like they were now meeting points just for them. They climbed up a taller building - an office block - up and up the fire escapes to the roof. It was the first time that Bucky had seen so much of the city all in one go and his heart sank. In the distance, he could see black smoke rolling up into the sky. Some buildings were already blackened and crumbling. There were no planes, no cars. But it was the noise that got him, that sunk deep inside him and made him feel desolate. Because there was none. Apart from the occasional groan from below...there was _nothing_.

"It's all gone," he said, almost in a whisper. He knew it, had known for as long as he'd been scrabbling from shelter to shelter but seeing everything from up here just made it more real.

"I know," Steve said sadly.

They stood in silence for a long time watching the black smoke on the horizon. Finally Steve turned to him.

"Stay with me. Please? Don't go back out there on your own." His eyes were earnest and pleading and Bucky knew then that he couldn't be alone again now even if he wanted to. In the short time he had known Steve, he had grown to trust him and if they were going to survive in this miserable new world, it would be together.

"I'll stay," he said.

Steve smiled and it almost blew away the black smoke in the sky and in Bucky's heart.

***

Weeks passed and they fell into a strange little routine; they ate, they slept, they survived. It may not have seemed like much of a routine but to Bucky, it was heaven. No more sleeping in the cold, scared out of his mind. No more wondering how long it would be until he could eat again. The dead were far enough away from them that they didn't have to worry. They had weapons and water and food. And chess. They played a lot of chess. They occasionally had phases where they became obsessed with another board game; a game of Monopoly turned into a four day competitive saga with Bucky down to his last $100. Candy Land passed more hours than it should have. Bucky taught Steve how to play poker. Steve taught Bucky how to play rummy. They talked for hours. Sometimes they didn't, just read books and felt content that they weren't alone.

One morning, Bucky woke up feeling low. It descended on him like a fog; he hadn't felt this way for a while and suddenly he was weighing up his life and actions and what he had lost; not just his family but in himself. He was quiet and unresponsive to Steve's cajoling and he soon stopped when he realized that something was wrong, that it wasn't just Bucky having his morning grumps.

"Bucky, are you alright?" Steve asked gently after a couple of hours.

Bucky poked at the book he had been pretending to read.

"You can talk to me, you know." Steve came and sat next to him. "Or you can tell me to fuck off."

Bucky shook his head. "No. I mean, I don't want you to fuck off."

Steve waited patiently for him. He did that a lot; Bucky didn't know where it came from - Steve's endless patience, his good nature despite what was going on around them.

"The guy I killed..."

He felt Steve shift beside him. The guilt came and went; Bucky spent hours picking it apart, trying to justify what he had done but it still wore him down, a series of what-ifs playing over and over.

"I'd been alone for a while, not doing so well. I was exhausted and hungry - a lot like I was when I met you. I ran into a small group of people who had a camp. They invited me back. It was amazing; they had weapons and food, they had shelter. It was a proper community; I was so desperate for some kind of stability that I accepted their offer to join them. Their leader was this guy called Brock. He had been a cop before the outbreak and everyone loved him. The camp had been his doing; he was organized, confident. At the start, I was like everyone else - I admired him, what he had accomplished. We became friends; I trusted him. I didn't see the warning signs at first: How intimidating he could be, how he was all too ready to draw his gun and kill anything he considered a threat. But as the days went on, he started to change; he was erratic and aggressive, pulling people aside for the smallest thing. Everyone got scared but no-one wanted to approach him. I tried to talk to him but he blew me off most of the time."

Bucky stopped and looked down at his hands. Steve's shoulder was warm against his.

"There was this kid, Jared. He was only sixteen. It was his little sister's birthday and he wanted to do something nice for her. He asked Brock if he could take a chocolate bar from the storehouse as a birthday present. Brock said no like he was asking for a four-course meal or something. I mean, we had plenty; one chocolate bar would have been nothing and his sister was like ten years-old. But Jared took one anyway and somehow Brock found out. He beat the absolute shit out of him in front of everyone and drew his gun on anyone who tried to stop him. It was...it was horrible. He broke five of Jared's ribs, his left arm and kicked most of his teeth out. All over one little chocolate bar for his sister's birthday. It didn't stop there though; he started to keep tabs on everyone, punishing people for the smallest things. He was getting more and more violent as the days passed."

Bucky took a breath. Steve was clenching his fists.

"Some people came to me and asked me to reason with him, that they were starting to fear for their lives. I decided to confront him but Brock had called a meeting. He had Jared tied up and blindfolded. He had heard all the "murmurs of dissent" and how it wouldn't stand, not in his world. That's what he said, "my world." He started to talk about trust and how we needed to know where we all stood. He...he shot Jared, right there. Just shot him in the head. No-one had time to react, it...it was so fast. He told us that we had to fall in line with his rules or this is what would happen. I just remember standing there and hearing Jared's little sister screaming. She wouldn't stop screaming."

Bucky rubbed his forehead. "A few days passed and I still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to him. None of the others pushed me, they were all terrified and knew what could happen. Then he called another meeting. This time, he had this other young kid, Danny, tied up and blindfolded. Apparently, he had been trying to "turn people against his way" and that wouldn't stand either. He called me up and gave me his gun. He wanted _me_ to shoot Danny, to _execute_ him, like he had Jared." He turned to look at Steve. "He thought I would just do it, that I was with him. He wanted me to _execute_ a human being." Bucky swallowed hard. "So I shot Brock. Right there without any hesitation. I knew that if this was how he meant to go on, he had to be stopped." He was shaking.

Steve gently put his arm on Bucky's. "You did what you had to do. He would have hurt a lot more people, killed them like he did with Jared over something as petty as chocolate."

"Steve, you don't get it," Bucky said desperately, raising his voice. "I didn't even hesitate, I didn't even try to talk him down. I just raised the gun and shot him in the head. There could have been another way. How does that not make me just like Brock? It didn't have to...have to..." He tried to take some deep breaths.

"Bucky," Steve said softly. "You did the right thing."

"How was shooting someone the right thing?! I'm not that person, Steve. I'm not..." Bucky started to sob. He tried to pull away when Steve put his arms around him but Steve just pulled him in tighter, enveloping Bucky in that strange and wonderful strength of his. It had been so long since he'd touched anyone like this and it felt good, like the way things had been before.

Steve held Bucky as he cried. "Buck, this new world - it's turned bad people worse and good people into things they shouldn't have to become. You were put into a terrible position and given a choice that no-one should have to make. I don't doubt for a second that you made the right one."

"But I killed him," Bucky wept, "I killed him."

"You saved a life," Steve countered.

"Stop doing that. Stop forgiving me."

"No," Steve said and hugged him harder.

Even though Bucky wanted to feel the guilt, he could feel a weight lifting from him in Steve's arms.

"You're a good person," Steve said softly, his lips against Bucky's hair. "I knew it from the start even if you didn't want to. I feel so much stronger with you here. I trust you."

Steve was smaller than him but he was stronger than Bucky ever thought he could be himself. Steve made him feel like maybe they had a chance now in this shitty world where nightmares were real.

"I feel so guilty. It won't stop."

"You're a human being. I'd be worried if you didn't feel guilty." Steve rubbed his arm. "So what happened after?"

"They wanted me to lead them but I couldn't. I couldn't stay. I ran away that night." He started to shiver a little and Steve reached over to Bucky's airbed and plucked off a blanket, covering them both. "I thought it would be better to be alone."

"Do you still think that?" Steve asked softly.

Bucky rested his head against Steve's shoulder. "No. I don't want to be alone again."

They held each other until they both fell asleep, not quite the same people they were before the world changed but feeling like maybe they could be again one day.

***

Bucky awoke the next morning stiff necked but calm, feeling better for his talk with Steve. He would never forgive himself for having killed Brock but he wanted to believe that he had done what he had done for good reasons and could maybe move on a little. He sighed. He didn't want to think about it for a while. He shifted slightly; Steve's head was resting against his shoulder. He was still asleep, his slightly open mouth making a little patch of drool on Bucky's hoodie. Bucky smiled. He was lucky to have found Steve. Well, technically, Steve had found him but still. It was nice to have someone to talk to. To trust again.

Steve stirred and blinked awake, confused for a moment and then raised his head and looked at Bucky with a grin.

"Morning," he said.

"Good morning."

Steve winced as his neck cricked and then he saw the spot of sleep drool on Bucky's hoodie. "Sorry," he laughed.

"No biggie," Bucky said. "Hey, thanks for last night. I needed that. To talk."

Steve smiled softly. "Anytime."

Bucky thought this might be uncomfortable but it wasn't. It had felt good to be close to someone again. "I'll make breakfast," he offered. "You go and wash up."

"Is my morning breath that bad?"

Bucky laughed and got to his feet, offering a hand to Steve and helping him to his. "That goes both ways, you know. If you ever wanted to talk, I'm here."

Steve nodded, that little smile still on his face. "Thanks." He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

***

"I need to suggest something that won't be very popular," Steve said later that morning, after they had finished Bucky's breakfast of oatmeal loaded with dried fruit and Spam fritters on the side.

Bucky stacked the plates and poured them both another cup of coffee from the thermos they kept filled. He watched as Steve pulled down a box from one of the top shelves.

"I've been stockpiling first aid stuff for a while: gauze, antiseptic cream, painkillers. the usual. But in the long run we need to think about some heavier duty antibiotics. There's a lot we can't treat with what I've got and I'm getting to the point where I don't want to take any chances."

"And you know what to do with a bunch of random antibiotics?" Bucky asked, one eyebrow raised.

Steve smirked. "I'm a man of many talents."

"I don't think I even want to know. Okay, so where are you going with all of this?"

"Hopefully to a pharmacy a few blocks away. I've been keeping tabs on it and as far as I can see, it hasn't been raided. It might have a bunch of antibiotics behind the counter that can treat some conditions that we couldn't with this stuff."

Bucky folded his arms. "How come you haven't gone sooner? I mean, you're pretty good at the whole scavenging thing obviously."

"The area where it is always seems to be pretty dense with zombies. It's definitely a two man job. You can distract them while I go in," Steve said.

"Is it really worth the risk?" Bucky sighed.

Steve nodded in agreement to Bucky's reluctance. "I know it's dangerous but it's just us now. We're on our own. I want to make sure that we'll be okay."

 _We_. A couple of months ago, Bucky would have balked at the notion of being part of a unit but this, with Steve, felt good. "I guess you're right."

Steve beamed and started to pack a bag with water and a few choice weapons.

"Wait, _now_? We're going now?" Bucky said, his stomach twisting anxiously.

"No time like the present," Steve said and then stopped packing when he saw Bucky's face. "Look," he said reassuringly, "I've got it all figured out. Trust me; we'll be in and out in a flash."

***

They made their way across the rooftops, much further than Steve had taken Bucky before. Steve pulled back the pallet they had just used to hop across a gap between buildings and ushered Bucky to the edge of the rooftop. He pointed. About 500 yards away was the pharmacy. It looked unscathed; the windows weren't broken at least. There were a _lot_ of dead down there, milling around in clumps.

Bucky frowned. "I don't like the look of this." They spoke in low voices.

"Buck, I'll be fine. All I need you to do is go across to the next roof and draw them away with noise. Start shouting, whatever you have to do. I can climb down the fire escape, get in, grab the medicine, get out and we can go home and play chess."

"What if the pharmacy is locked?"

"I'll jimmy the door open."

"What if the place is crawling with those things?"

"If there are too many, I'll come right back out. Plan failed. If not..." he pointed to the long-handled hammer strapped to his backpack, "I can take care of a few dead-heads."

Bucky huffed. "Just...why push our luck? We've got it good already. Chances are we won't need the antibiotics."

Steve knelt in front of him. "I don't _want_ to take that chance though. I can do this. I did harder things on my own." He looked at Bucky with pleading eyes.

Bucky sighed. "In and out as _fast as you can_. Don't do anything stupid. Please, Steve. I...I've kind of gotten used to you and I don't think I want to go back to eating breakfast alone any more."

Steve smiled softly. "It's definitely my Apocalypse Beans, isn't it."

Bucky stood up and grabbed the pallet, ready to cross to the other building. "Don't go until I've got their attention, okay? Run fast and don't stop. In and out."

Steve stood beside the fire escape. "Just say when."

Bucky moved across to the adjacent building and started to scan for anything he could use to distract the zombies away from Steve. There were several loose bricks which he picked up and placed near the low wall at the building's edge. He saw a small pile of blankets in one corner, caked with dirt and tattered. Next to them was a pile of empty beer bottles.

"Score," he muttered to himself. He gathered the bottles and positioned himself on the corner of the roof furthest away from Steve and the pharmacy. He wanted to give him as much space as he could. He glanced across and saw Steve watching him. Taking a deep breath, he drew back and threw one of the beer bottles.

As soon as it smashed in the street below, the zombies turned and made a bee-line towards the noise, their groans becoming more pronounced as their interest piqued. Bucky looked over to Steve and held up a hand. _Not yet_. Steve nodded.

He waited until a good amount of the zombies had shuffled towards the smashed bottle and then threw another one slightly further away. Again, they shuffled towards the source of the noise. Bucky jabbed at the air with his hand to Steve. _Go now!_

Steve disappeared out of sight. A few minutes later, Bucky saw him down on the street below, inching his way across to the pharmacy, never turning his back on the crowd of living corpses. Bucky swallowed, his gaze shifting from Steve to the zombies. He looked down at his stash; he had three bottles left. He'd wait until Steve got into the pharmacy (please let it be unlocked) and if there was no sign of a struggle, would use another bottle to draw the horde further away still.

Steve reached the pharmacy and Bucky simultaneously sagged in relief and drew in a breath of anticipation. Steve tried the door and it was locked. Bucky checked the horde - they were still distracted. Steve was using something on the door; Bucky couldn't quite make it out but it looked like a thin sliver of metal. The door opened and Steve readied his long-handled hammer before stepping in.

Bucky held his breath.

A moment later, Steve poked his head back out and gave Bucky a grin and a thumbs-up. Bucky grinned back but then waved his arms. _Hurry the fuck up!!_

Steve ducked back into the pharmacy and closed the door. Bucky crouched on the roof and waited. He suddenly wished he had a watch or something because it felt like Steve was taking forever. The zombies below were starting to slowly scatter again so he threw another bottle, the sound almost deafening as it smashed. This time the zombies barely reacted to it; they turned towards the disturbance but then just carried on doing what they had been doing, most of them starting to shuffle their way over to the pharmacy again. Bucky's mouth went dry.

 _No, no, no. Come on you fucking rotten bastards_. He desperately threw another bottle but this time they completely ignored it, dead set on making their way back up the street and towards Steve. If he left it any longer in there they would be on him when he came out - he might have time to barricade himself inside but Bucky didn't want that to happen if he could help it. He scrabbled around the roof, trying to find something else to use as a distraction but there was nothing else up there. He ran to the ledge and looked down; still no sign of Steve and the horde were steadily drawing closer. His only option was to scale the fire ladder down the side of his building and make _himself_ into a distraction to give Steve enough time to get back up the fire escape he had gone down.

The fire ladder squealed as Bucky started to make his way down and he was painfully aware of how rusty it looked; whoever had owned this building hadn't bothered to make sure their fire code was up to scratch. Several of the nails that secured it into the wall were loose and the brick surrounding them was crumbling. He tried to ignore it and stepped down as lightly as he could. The alley below was empty and when he dropped the few feet to the ground, he quickly ducked behind a pile of trash and waited. Luckily he hadn't been heard. He crept to the end of the alleyway and peered out.

The street was thick with zombies, all making their way towards Steve.

Bucky was trying to think of a plan when there was the sound of smashing glass from the pharmacy. He looked over as shards sprayed onto the sidewalk and Steve leapt through the broken window, the mangled body of a zombie underneath him. There must have been one hiding where Steve couldn't see it. He landed hard on the sidewalk and then looked up in horror at the stinking multitude around him, now locked onto him and descending.

Bucky was out of the alleyway before he even knew what he was doing. He picked up a trash can and threw it at the corpses, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Hey! Hey, over here!"

He had time to see Steve's face drop in terror. "Bucky, no!" 

"Steve, run! I'll try and lure them away!"

Immediately, a group of zombies began making their way back towards Bucky. He stood at the mouth of the alleyway for as long as he dared. He held a hand up to his face and covered his mouth and nose to stop from gagging. He could smell them from here, putrid and rotten. The noise of them grew and grew the closer they got and had he thought they were capable of it, he would have sworn that they sounded excited.

When Bucky was certain that enough of them weren't interested in Steve anymore, he ran as fast as he could back down the alleyway and scrambled up the fire ladder as quickly as he could. This time, he felt it coming away from the wall as he climbed.

God no, please no, he thought frantically. Each step up made the ladder more and more unstable and he could hear the dead swarming in the alley below him.

 _Please let Steve be okay_ , he thought as he neared the top of the ladder.

He was four rungs away from the roof when there was a sickening squeal and the ladder came completely away from the wall above him. He clung on desperately, watching in horror as the ladder jerked and started to drop. Bucky cried out and closed his eyes, ready for the fall. He hoped it would kill him. He didn't want to be alive when he hit the ground. He didn't want to feel what those things would do to him.

Something grabbed him by the wrist and he opened his eyes to see Steve above him, his hand wrapped around his tightly. He scrabbled to find purchase on the wall as the ladder fell away, clanging loudly into to the mass below.

"I've got you," Steve said, his voice strained as he tried to hold Bucky's weight and not be pulled over the edge of the roof with him. He gritted his teeth and started to do his best to haul Bucky up, his face pained.

Bucky managed to heave himself up with Steve's help, his fingers scraped raw from the brick and they collapsed together in a heap, breathing hard.

"How...how did you get across here?" Bucky huffed. "I had the pallet on my side."

Steve sat up, his back to the low wall surrounding the roof. "I jumped."

Bucky gawped between breaths. "You crazy bastard!"

"You can talk! You turned yourself into bait!"

"It was the only thing I could think to do," he said, the adrenaline finally ebbing. "What the hell happened in there?"

Steve rubbed his arm and winced, no doubt strained from holding Bucky. "There was one of them out back. Took me by surprise." He looked at Bucky gratefully. "If you hadn't have been there when I made it outside, I'd be dead."

Bucky shook his head. "That was never going to happen. Not if I could help it."

Steve smiled and just watched him for a moment. "I owe you," he said quietly.

"No you don't. I owe you more than I could ever pay back." Bucky suddenly felt vulnerable under Steve's smile. "Please tell me this whole thing was worth it."

Steve help up his pack and shook it. "Amoxicillin, Doxycycline, Clioquinol, Erythromycin, Trimethoprim. Some other goodies too."

"Whatever you say, pal," Bucky said and stood up on wobbly legs. He reached down and helped Steve to his feet.

Steve still had that infuriating smile on his face, happiness and admiration and all of it for Bucky. He wanted to feel like he deserved that smile and then felt terrified that he wanted it so badly.

"I think we'll do okay with this whole end of the world gig," Steve said. "You and me together."

And then Bucky couldn't help but smile back even though moments before, there had been more than a good chance that both of them could have been killed...but they hadn't been, because they'd had each other's backs. They cared about each other.

"So goddamned cocky," Bucky muttered with a grin. "Can we please go home now?" _Home_. The word felt good.

They made their way back across the rooftops, the sounds of the dead below them. Bucky was overcome by a great sense of belonging: They were a team, he and Steve. They were partners. They were something more. Bucky knew, as they climbed down the fire escape to the alley and to their home, that he would fight like hell to keep what they had.

***

The days went on and they survived in their own way; they ventured out rarely now, just twice a week in familiar surroundings to take stock of the number of dead (there were more each day, it would seem) and to try and spot airplanes. Bucky had sworn blind that he'd heard a jet one afternoon when they were out on the rooftops but they hadn't seen or heard anything since. It hadn't sparked much hope in Bucky anyway; how the hell would they ever be able to signal one without broadcasting themselves to anyone or anything in the area? Steve had indulged him in looking out for more but he seemed content to keep doing things the way they had been.

One day, Steve was reading quietly while Bucky fidgeted, not getting into his own book. He had these restless days sometimes. He looked over Steve's shelves.

"Steve? How come you don't have any guns?" he asked.

Steve looked up from his book. "What?"

Bucky stood up and ran his hand along Steve's weapon shelf. "You have all this stuff but no guns. I was just wondering why."

Steve put his book down. "Well, anywhere I came across that sold guns were always cleared out but to be honest, I don't know if I would have taken any had I found them. I don't know how to use them and they scare the shit out of me."

"Fair enough. Would you ever want to learn? If we found any?"

"Do you know how to use a gun?"

Bucky nodded. "Brock showed me. I never wanted to carry one, though. I never killed any zombies with one, just..." He trailed off and looked away.

Steve got up and walked over to him, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezing gently. "If we ever find any, I'll leave that decision to you," he said softly.

But days later, the decision was made for them. They were on the rooftops when there was a roar of engines from a few blocks away. Bucky's head snapped up and he started for the edge of the roof for a better look. The noise was drawing close.

Steve tackled Bucky to the ground, the two of them sprawling onto the concrete.

"Steve, what -  

"Marauders," Steve hissed. "Stay down."

They scooted low to the roof's edge. Steve looked terrified.

"But how do you know?" Bucky asked.

Before Steve could answer there was a loud peal of gunfire. It echoed around the buildings; Bucky was stunned - it was the loudest thing he'd heard for months. He threw a shocked glance to Steve who was huddled by his side, eyes wide with fear. The din eventually stopped and there were shouts and whoops of victory. Bucky carefully levered himself up.

"Buck, no," Steve whispered and tried to pull him back down.

"I just want to see," Bucky whispered back. He peered as carefully over the side of the roof as he could. About a block away was a huge black SUV with what looked like a damn mini-gun mounted on the back. Six guys milled around a pile of zombies laughing. Each one had an automatic weapon.

Bucky ducked back down. "We should get back to the safe house right now."

Steve nodded and they crawled away to the pallet they had left between buildings, hurriedly tucking it away as they crossed over. They didn't stop until they were back and the door was bolted and chained. Steve was shaking.

Bucky described the men and the vehicle. "Was it the same guys who chased you down that time?" he asked.

"I think so," Steve said. He opened the door into the main room and turned on the camping lamps. "I'd really hoped that they had moved on." He rubbed his arm with a shaky hand. "We shouldn't leave here for a few days."

Bucky was a little shook up too; there was no way a group like that were going to be welcoming and friendly if they came across other survivors, especially if they found this place. He didn't like seeing how scared Steve was.

"Hey," he said softly and stepped closer. "We'll be okay. There's more than a good chance that they won't even come anywhere near here, let alone find this place."

"But what if they do?" Steve said in a small voice. "What if they find this place and break in and - "

"That won't happen," Bucky interrupted him, his voice hard.

Steve looked at him, his blue eyes afraid. "But what if..."

Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulders. "Steve, I won't let that happen."

Even he was surprised by the conviction in his voice but he knew he meant it, more than anything and the thought he'd had the day Steve had gone to the pharmacy, that he'd fight to keep what they had, became a promise in his mind. He would fight to keep Steve. Steve had saved him and trusted him. Without Steve he'd be dead right now. He needed Steve.

"I won't let anything happen," he said again softly and Steve nodded and grabbed Bucky's hand on his shoulder and held it tightly.

***

They were both quiet that evening. They had agreed that they needed guns and when it was safe to venture out again, they should make a plan to try and find some. Steve didn't look happy about it but after seeing that SUV and those men, Bucky knew that they had to arm themselves with more than just baseball bats and hockey sticks. The thought of holding a gun again made him sick to his stomach but he didn't ever want to come across a group like that and not have something to be able to fight a fair fight back with.

They ate dinner and got ready for bed, neither of them in the mood to play a game or read. Steve finished in the bathroom and climbed beneath his covers, turning off his bedside camping light, shuffling around for a few minutes before he was still.

"Buck?" Steve said.

"Yeah?"

"Did you...did you have anyone special? Before all of this happened?" He was trying to sound nonchalant but Bucky could hear the slight strain of nervousness in his voice.

"No," he said quietly. "Not for a while. How about you?"

Steve laughed softly but it was a sad laugh. "No. Remember I told you I was nothing much before all of this? Most people seemed to agree."

"Steve..."

"No, I'm not fishing or anything. I accepted a long time ago that I was nobody's idea of a catch. I was just thinking...this all becomes so much harder when you have someone to lose. Don't you think?"

Bucky was silent for a few moments. "No," he said finally. "I think if you have someone special, you'll fight harder to survive. You have a reason to live."

Steve shifted slightly beside him. "You think so?"

"Yes," Bucky said without any hesitation.

***

Steve pulled out every map of the city and they looked for every conceivable place where they might find guns.

"There is a gun store here - " Steve pointed to an area on the map about eight miles away, " - but it's on a main street and I can't see it being stocked."

Bucky pushed his hair back with one hand. "How about the sporting goods store?"

"No, the gun cabinets were empty the first time I even went in there. That's why I grabbed everything else."

"Well, we don't have a lot of options left."

Steve hummed. "Maybe, maybe not. There's a strip mall five miles away that might be worth a look but I can't guarantee there would be anything there."

Bucky sighed. "It might be our only option. How much of a bitch is it to get to?"

"The route itself isn't too bad. It's the amount of dead I'm worried about. We can scout ahead on the rooftops for a couple of miles with minimal ground time but beyond that, it's a risk. More so than the pharmacy run was."

Bucky slumped against the wall and rubbed his face. "What do you think?"

Steve sat next to him, their shoulders touching. Bucky relished the contact. "We'd be fucked if we ever ran into any groups larger than three. As much as I don't want to use them, we need guns to even stand a chance out there."

 _Out there_. Bucky didn't want there to even be an out there. He just wanted _in here_ with safety and enough food and Steve.

He nodded. "The strip mall it is, then."

"We'll go in two days but only after we're sure those guys have moved on."

"Make it three. We'll spend some time on the rooftops the day after tomorrow and make sure. It's not like we can't spare the time."

"Okay," Steve said; he sounded a little more relaxed but his voice was still tight with fear. Bucky hated hearing Steve sound that way; Steve was strong and brave and good and the fact that there were people in this world now who would go out of their way to destroy what this horrible place needed right now made Bucky clench his fists in anger. He wanted to pull Steve in and hold him, maybe kiss him but he didn't.

Bucky stood up and went to make coffee. "Come on. I haven't thrashed you at chess for a while."

***

They were careful leaving the safe house when they finally ventured outside, both tense as hell and jumping at every little sound. They kept low on the roofs, out of sight and ready to bolt at even the first sign of the marauders. Steve's jaw was set in a permanent clench, the line of his shoulders tight. They had decided to spent a few hours on the roof of the shoe store about a block from home; Steve chose the spot because it was at an intersection and the sound always seemed to carry there. They would have no problem hearing the SUV if it was still in the area.

"Those guys aren't exactly quiet either," Bucky said when they were on the roof, sitting with their backs to the low wall. "We'll hear them."

Steve stretched his legs out in front of him. "I hate this," he said quietly.

"I know," Bucky replied. "End of the world kind of sucks, huh."

Steve turned to him with an unimpressed smile. "Ha ha." He looked down at his hands, both wrapped tightly around the handle of his baseball bat. "If it weren't for you, it would be worse."

"I'm hardly a barrel of laughs."

Steve swallowed. "Bucky, I - "

He was cut off by a loud scream that seemed to come from further down the block. They both looked at each other and clambered up, looking over the side of the roof.

A man was running down the middle of the road, dragging his leg and sobbing loudly. He was being followed by a large group of zombies and his cries were drawing more out of each street he passed. Bucky drew in a breath: It was one of the marauders. He recognized him from the other day.

"Buck," Steve said and grabbed Bucky's arm, "we have to help him!"

"Steve we can't; look how many of those things are after him. We won't stand a chance." Bucky couldn't help but notice that the man no longer had a gun.

The man screamed. "Somebody, please help me!"

More and more zombies were pouring from the side streets, the noise filling the air until it was almost deafening.

Steve became frantic. "We can't just stand here! We have to _do_ something." He started off towards the closest fire ladder but Bucky grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Look," he hissed, pointing at the guy's leg. "He's been bitten." The man's left trouser leg was ripped and the flesh of his calf was torn and ragged, blood dripping steadily onto the concrete with each step he took. They _must have left him_ , Bucky thought. _Those bastards just threw him out to die_. No wonder the zombies were in such a frenzy; they could _smell_ him.

"But - " Steve flailed in Bucky's grasp.

"Steve, he's dead either way. There are too many of them and they're all riled up. We can't. We can't!" He shook Steve, his grip on him tight.

They watched as the man screamed for help again but within seconds, the first of the zombies were on him. Steve wrenched his arm loose but stood where he was, a small sob escaping him. Bucky turned away as the horde piled onto the man, his screams upping in pitch. He felt sick.

Steve stayed at the roof's edge and watched.

The man's screams were cut off suddenly and all that remained were the cries and moans of the dead as they fed on him. Bucky didn't want to look back down at what might remain. He reasoned with himself that there really was nothing they could have done. Even if they had somehow distracted the horde and gotten the man to safety, a bite like that would have been a death sentence anyway. He took a few deep breaths, willing the nausea he was feeling away.

"Steve," he called out.

Steve's shoulder's were hunched and he seemed to be folding in on himself. He was trembling.

Bucky walked over to him and touched his shoulder. "Steve..." he said again, softly.

Steve batted his hand away and pushed by him but not before Bucky saw the tears streaming down his face, his eyes filled with hopelessness. "We could have helped," he sobbed as he made his way across the roof.

"We couldn't," Bucky said, following him. "It was too late. We...we have to think about ourselves in situations like that."

Steve turned around, his face twisting in anger. "That didn't stop you from putting your own life at risk that day we went to the pharmacy."

"That was different," Bucky threw back. "Did you see that guy? He was one of those assholes that chased you down and would have _killed_ you had they gotten hold of you."

"And that makes it fine to just let him die? This coming from someone who has already shot a person," Steve spat.

The comment hit Bucky like a slap and he stepped close to Steve, his own anger rising. "You're right, it doesn't make it fine but I would choose you over anyone else in this fucking world if that's what it came down to."

Steve clamped his mouth shut but his eyes were still cold with fury. He turned and walked away and Bucky wondered if he had just made a huge mistake in telling Steve that.

***

When they got back home, Steve went straight to his bed and lay down facing the wall. He took his rosary beads out of his pocket and clutched them. Bucky watched him helplessly; there was nothing more he could say. The man was dead and they were alive.

"Steve," he said quietly, "you know we couldn't have done anything."

Steve rolled onto his back. "Is this what we have to do now? Just...stay holed up in here and watch other people die?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just despondent.

"This is the world we live in now. You can't save everyone."

Steve's jaw twitched. "I've been fooling myself," he said, his voice low. "I was so wrapped up in making this little nest that I forgot how horrible it all is." His breath hitched. "This isn't living."

Bucky didn't know how to console him. He wanted to touch him but he didn't think that was a very good idea, not now. "I don't know what you want me to say."

They were both silent for a few moments. Bucky watched Steve staring up at the ceiling, his eyes wet, his knuckles white from clutching his mother's rosary.

"This place is going to be our tomb," Steve finally said before turning to face the wall again and refusing to speak any more.

***

For the rest of the day they remained silent. The hours were heavy and grey. Bucky sat against the wall and picked at his cuticles, feeling like nothing could get better again. Steve had barely moved; he was still facing the wall but Bucky knew that he wasn't asleep.

"Can I make you something to eat?" he finally asked tentatively. It had to be dark outside now.

Steve's head shook minutely but then he sat up. "I'm going to wash up and get into bed." He looked exhausted.

He stood up and started for the bathroom. Bucky quickly rose and put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Steve," he said.

Steve finally met his eyes and they were so tired, so sad. He nodded. "I know," he said quietly.

Steve was in the bathroom for a long time. Bucky couldn't blame him; when it was his turn, he scrubbed his skin hard, almost painfully, as if trying to wash off the guilt of having to choose not to help the man outside.

When he came back into the store room, Steve was on his airbed under the covers, staring up at the ceiling. Bucky crawled onto his own bed and turned off the LED lamp, lying on his back, listening to Steve's even breathing for a long time.

He thought Steve had fallen asleep but then he said softly into the darkness, "We can't stay here."

"I know," Bucky said.

"I'm so scared," Steve whispered.

"Me too." Since finding Steve he wasn't as scared as he had been but Steve was right; they had both forgotten for a while just how awful things had become in the world. They had felt safe here in their own little cocoon but they weren't safe. Nowhere was safe anymore.

"I'm not just scared of things as they are now, I'm..." Steve's breath hitched and his voice broke. "I'm so scared of losing you. I watched that man die and...and I thought what if it was you? And I can't, Bucky. I can't lose you."

Bucky swallowed hard and groped for Steve's hand in the dark, clasping it tightly. "I can't lose you either. I..."

He turned his head, trying to see Steve in the dark. He could just make him out, watching him. And then Steve was leaning in and kissing him, hard and desperate, his hands at Bucky's face. Bucky kissed Steve back and wrapped his arms around him, whimpering slightly at how good it felt to touch someone so fully again. Steve shifted and climbed onto Bucky's air bed which was too small for the both of them but Bucky didn't care, he just kept kissing him and running his hands up and down Steve's back, into his hair. Steve tugged on Bucky's t-shirt and pulled it off, then struggled out of his own, leaning back in to straddle Bucky and kiss him again and again. When his hands started to slip into Bucky's sweatpants, Bucky grabbed them and caught his breath.

"Wait," he panted. "Isn't this...too fast?"

Steve stilled above him for a few seconds. Bucky had to strain to make out his shape in the darkness but then Steve was kissing him again. "Buck, there's no such thing as too fast anymore."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah," he breathed and brought Steve's hands back to his waistband again. Steve was right; tomorrow might be their last day, or the day after that. Who could say.

They undressed and it was fast and frantic; Bucky knew that they both just wanted to feel something other than the pain and misery from what had happened earlier but he still tried to savor the softness of Steve's skin, the noises he made.

Afterwards, Steve lay on top of him panting, his face buried in Bucky's neck. Bucky ran his hands up and down Steve's back, unable to stop touching. He felt calmer than before and he could feel it in Steve too. He was lax against Bucky, the tenseness that had been in him all day was gone. He shivered a little and Bucky pulled the blankets over the two of them.

"Bucky, this wasn't just..." Steve started, the beginnings of hesitation and the need to explain creeping into his voice.

Bucky kissed his temple softly. "I know it wasn't. It wasn't for me; I've wanted this."

Steve wrapped himself around Bucky. "Good," he said and Bucky finally heard a smile in his voice. "Me too."

They lay together in the dark for a long time, Steve winding his fingers again and again around strands of Bucky's hair. It was almost hypnotic and Bucky had to fight to keep awake because he wanted to just stay like this for as long as he could, safe and warm in Steve's arms.

"What do we do now?" Steve asked quietly.

Bucky sighed. "I don't know. Anywhere we go is going to be bad."

Steve gave a small nod of agreement. "My aunt lived in the Ozarks. I'm not placing all of my hope on her still being there but it was isolated."

Bucky hummed. "That's a long way on foot."

"We might find a car..."

"We might," Bucky said and dipped his head to kiss Steve again. This time it was slow and tender instead of hurried. "Let's talk about it tomorrow. For now, I just...I just want you."

"Alright," Steve whispered against Bucky's lips.

They made love again and took their time, enjoying each other's bodies and Bucky thought that whatever happened a day or a week or a month from now, this would always be with him.

***

Bucky switched off the alarm when it started to bleep and carefully reached over to turn on the camping lantern. Steve was still asleep against him. He carefully eased off of the air bed and went to the bathroom to wash. He scrubbed his face and glanced at his neck and chest which were spotted with red blotches. He couldn't help but grin; he hadn't had a damned hickie since high school. That felt like a million years ago now, like some dream he'd once had and could barely remember. He pressed a finger to one mark on his neck, cementing in his mind that it was real. Steve had given him this.

He turned off the lamp in the bathroom and Steve was awake, propped up on one elbow blinking into the room, the blankets tangled at his waist. His hair was a mess and Bucky chuckled lightly as Steve tried to brush it down. He sat beside him on the airbed and took Steve's hand and kissed it.

"You look beautiful," he said.

Steve rolled his eyes but blushed. "Buck..."

"You do. Better get used to me telling you that." He kissed Steve softly on the lips and Steve smiled, resting his head against Bucky's chest.

"So," Steve said after a few minutes. "What are we going to do?"

"Ozarks are as good a place as any to try. Think you might want to see if your aunt is still there?"

"If we make it that far, yeah."

Bucky chewed his lip. "There's a chance we may not make it that far. We might not even make it out of this city."

"I know," Steve said quietly. "Part of me wants to just stay here but what would we do? Just play chess and eat beans for the rest of our lives?"

"There has to be something more. People who want to do some good. It's just finding them, I guess."

"Yeah." Steve sighed. "I want to believe that there are more people like us."

"We need to set a solid deadline to leave. We could talk about it and never get around to doing it," Bucky said.

Steve was quiet for a moment. "A week today. That would give us time to plan: Work out a route, see what we can carry that won't hinder us too much."

Bucky rubbed his hand up and down Steve's arm. "A week today, then." He let out a shuddery breath. "This all feels real for the first time in a while."

Steve nuzzled into Bucky's neck. "This is real too," he said softly.

Bucky smiled and ran his hand through Steve's hair. "The hickies kind of told me that when I looked in the mirror."

Steve went red and leaned back to look at Bucky's neck and chest. "Sorry. I guess I got carried away."

"I like it," Bucky said and kissed Steve, knowing that they had work to do but wanting to taste him for just a little bit longer.

***

For the next two days, Steve sat with a road atlas of the US in his lap, jotting down figures in a notebook. Bucky made an inventory of all of the items in the safe house and what they could realistically carry between them. Steve was smaller than him but he was strong; they might be able to carry a lot and still be able to fight if they needed to.

"Bucky?" Steve said. He was sitting with his back to the wall, the road map resting on his lap.

Bucky put down the food packets he had been trying to shove into an already-full backpack and settled beside him.

"Well, if we took the most direct route possible it would take us at least twenty days to walk to the Ozarks. Of course, that's assuming that we can walk twelve hours a day uninterrupted with absolutely no obstacles."

Bucky smiled wryly. "We both know that ain't going to happen."

"There's no telling how bad things are between here and there either," Steve said. "I have no idea how long it could take."

"That could be said of anywhere we choose to go though. I say we just go for it."

Steve nodded. "The route would take us through Indiana," he said softly. "We could...see if your family are still there."

Bucky looked down at the map. "I don't think I want to know either way." He could feel his voice breaking. "Maybe it's best not to know."

Steve took his hand and squeezed it. "If you change your mind, I'll be with you."

Bucky nodded. He thought about his home. If they went there, would it be okay? Would his family be there? Or would it be burnt to the ground, his family long dead? It was too much to think about and he rested his head against Steve's.

"I don't think I could get through this without you," Bucky said.

Steve kissed Bucky lightly on the cheek. "Likewise. You make me want to fight harder to survive."

They held each other and Bucky thought about how lucky he had been to meet Steve here at the end of the world.

***

For the next week they planned their route out of the city. A lot of it was based on Steve's maps and memory so it was hard to know if things had changed. They wouldn't know until they actually left and then there was the bigger worry of life outside the city. _Really_ outside. They decided there was no turning back now though.

Any spare moment they weren't planning or deciding what to take with them or what to leave, they were touching; kissing and having sex, holding each other close. It was almost like they were trying to do as much as they possibly could in case... _in case we don't make it_ , Bucky would think again and again as he ran his lips over as much of Steve's body as he could. Steve would whisper to him afterwards in the dark; telling Bucky how good he made him feel, how they weren't alone any more.

Then it was time.

They had their packs and weapons and got ready to leave, both silent and morose. It was just after dawn. Bucky went to use the bathroom one more time, terrified now that this was happening. When he came out Steve was hunched on the floor, two bottles of clear liquid in front of him. He was tearing a dishtowel into strips. 

"Are you...are those molotov cocktails?" Bucky asked, incredulously.

Steve nodded. "I figured it wouldn't hurt for us to have something that could take out a crowd in a pinch, if needs be."

"What's in them?"

"Turpentine," Steve said as he poked the fabric strips through the bottle necks. He rummaged on one of his shelves and came up with two zippo lighters. "One each. We'll have to make them count." He froze when he saw the way Bucky was looking at him. "What?"

Bucky managed a grin and wrapped his arms around Steve's waist. "You impress and surprise me all the time, you know that?"

Steve's cheeks went pink. "It's no big deal. I saw it in a bunch of movies. Hopefully they'll work."

"Steve..." Bucky swallowed. "I love you. I need you to know that before we do this."

Steve met Bucky's eyes, his own were so blue and sincere it hurt. "I love you too. I love you so much."

They kissed slowly but with need, wanting to make it last. They parted and Bucky pressed his forehead to Steve's and closed his eyes, mainly to stop the tears that were forming.

"I love you, no matter what happens," he whispered.

Steve nodded against him and held him tighter; they both knew that this was some kind of goodbye, just in case...just in case anything happened. Finally, Bucky pulled himself away and picked up his pack, slinging it over his shoulders. He had a hatchet within easy reach in one of the side pockets and a few knives in the other. He picked up the long-handled hammer he had chosen and watched as Steve put on his own pack and solemnly held a large machete. He hoped they wouldn't have to use them. Steve had the molotov cocktails tucked into the side pockets of his pack and Bucky hoped to God that they were safe there.

They turned off the camping lamps and went through to the main door. Steve took one last longing look back into the storeroom that had been their haven and home. Bucky knew how hard it must be for Steve to leave. He had built this up from nothing and leaving everything behind for this trip was terrifying. But they had to go.

Bucky reached out and squeezed Steve's hand. "Ready?"

Steve closed the door and clutched Bucky's hand tightly. "Ready."

They stepped outside into the alleyway and Steve locked the door and then pushed the dumpster back in front. He placed the padlock key on top of the dumpster.

"This could save someone else's life," he said quietly and Bucky managed a little smile. Whatever happened, Steve would never stop being a good person.

They looked at each other for a beat and then made their way into the unknown.

***

** 10 Months Later. **

Clint tried to scramble through the underbrush as best he could but the woods were getting thicker the longer and further into them he walked. He had no idea where the fuck he was and it would be getting dark soon. He was ill-equipped to be out here but he'd had no choice. When the bombing had started, all he had been able to think about was getting Nat and Kate to safety. He thought back to the deafening blast that had separated them, staring helplessly across the fire that was raging out of control and seeing Nat staring just as helplessly back at him, Katie clutched in her arms. Then her face had set in that "take no shit" face Nat was infamous for and she had nodded to him. _I'll take care of Kate. Find a way to get back to us_. Clint had nodded back, a sob caught in his throat as Nat ran with Kate out of sight. He had run too, hoping to double back and follow their trail but now he was lost and alone and frustrated.

He only had one bottle of water and no food and if he was lucky enough to be in an area with no zombies, then a bear or whatever the fuck lived out here would probably get him first. His jeans snagged on some sharp brambles and he cursed loudly as he heard a tear as he tried to yank them free. He heard branches snapping up ahead but the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked made him freeze.

"Stay right where you are, please." The voice was firm but not unpleasant and Clint glanced up.

About ten metres ahead of him were two men: The taller of the two had long brown hair tied back in a scruffy ponytail. He was wearing a muddy poncho and holding a large machete in one hand. His other hand was hidden beneath his clothing. The smaller of the two was the one holding the gun, a hunting rifle, his blue eyes cold and focused. His dirty blond hair was brushed back from his face and Clint had no doubt whatsoever that the guy would shoot him if he so much as farted wrong.

"Please, I'm not armed," Clint said, his voice trembling. He held up his hands slowly, forgetting his torn jeans.

The blond guy didn't move an inch but the other pointed his machete at Clint. "I'm afraid I can't just take your word for that. Take off your jacket and throw us your bag."

Clint carefully removed his backpack and tossed it to the brown-haired guy. Then he carefully slipped off his jacket and threw that too.

"Move and stand over by that tree," the brown-haired guy said.

"I can't. I'm stuck," Clint said, shivering a little in his t-shirt. He tried to raise his leg to show them and his jeans ripped further.

"Alright. Put your hands on your head. Don't move."

Clint did as he was told and watched as the taller guy patted down his jacket and searched through the pockets. When he was satisfied with that, he opened his pack and started to pull everything out one by one: His water bottle, his copy of The Old Man And The Sea that he refused to be parted from, the photo album that Nat had saved. The guy turned the pages, his face blank. _Please let him see the pictures of Nat and Kate_ , Clint thought. The last thing he took out was Kate's sketchbook. As he flipped through it, his face softened a little.

Clint looked at the blond guy; he was still staring straight at him, gun pointed, eyes unblinking.

"Okay, he's clean," the taller guy said and put everything back in Clint's bag.

"He could still have something on him," the blond said, his voice low and hard.

"I don't think he does," the other said. He looked at Clint. "I'm going to help him out of those brambles and then we're going to talk some. If he tries anything..."

The threat was more than clear and Clint nodded.

The brown-haired guy started walking towards him, thwacking at the thicker foliage with his machete. It was only when he reached him and started to carefully cut through the bracken holding him in place that Clint saw he only had one arm.

When Clint was free, the brown-haired guy considered him for a moment. "What are you doing way out here?"

Clint let his arms drop to his sides and rubbed his elbow. "I got separated from my group."

The guy stiffened slightly. "What kind of a group?"

"Families, mostly. But we have a few scientists, some former military."

"He could be lying," the blond said from his spot.

The brown-haired guy watched Clint closely. "I don't think he is. You have a family?"

Clint nodded. "A wife and six year-old daughter." He was still tense, every muscle in his body primed to just run if this went bad.

"Steve, put the gun down," the brown-haired guy said.

"Buck, no," hissed the smaller guy - Steve - and frowned harder.

Ignoring him, the brown-haired guy said, "I'm Bucky, this is Steve." He stuck his machete in the ground between them and held out his hand.

Clint could have cried in relief and he sagged a little as he shook. "Clint."

The blond made a muffled sound of frustration but lowered his gun finally, glaring at Bucky and Clint as he did.

"Sorry about all of this. We've had some bad experiences with other survivors."

Clint glanced at Steve again and noticed the ugly raised scar on his face, starting next to his left eyebrow and snaking it's way down to his jaw. Between that and Bucky's missing arm, he wondered what the hell these guys had been through.

"I'm not looking for trouble. I just want to get back to my family," Clint said, putting on his jacket and picking up his pack. "Our group was attacked and we got separated."

"Well, it'll be dark in about ninety minutes so I don't think you'll be going anywhere tonight. We have a small camp a little ways up. You're welcome to spend the night and have some food," Bucky said.

" _Bucky_ ," Steve growled behind him heatedly.

Bucky ignored him again. "These woods are pretty sparse of zombies but I wouldn't want to be exposed after dark."

"Thank you. I...I'm really hungry." Clint was more than aware that he wasn't welcome to join them on Steve's part but Bucky seemed genuine in his offer. Nat, Kate and he wouldn't have gotten as far as they had without putting their trust in some people.

Steve huffed and started to make his way angrily through the trees. Bucky didn't seem bothered and just picked up his machete and indicated for Clint to follow.

***

Clint almost missed their camp until they were on top of it. The tent was covered in bracken and leaves and was artfully hidden away between the trees. Bucky removed a lattice of twigs and leaves away from a hidden fire pit and started to load it with fresh branches.

Steve glared at Bucky's back for a moment before clomping off. "I'm going to check the snares before dark."

When he was out of earshot Bucky turned to Clint, who had been standing awkwardly watching them, and smiled apologetically. "You'll have to excuse Steve. He has trust issues."

Clint gathered a few more branches and handed them to Bucky. "Can't say I blame him."

Bucky sighed and started up the fire, packing dried leaves underneath to get it going. "He's a good person; too good. It's been tough on him, seeing how shitty the world is now. It tears me up to watch him shut down the way he has."

Clint thought about Kate having to grow up on this hellish version of Earth, of the childhood she would never have. "I understand," he said softly. "It's hard to trust anyone these days. Thank you, though. For giving me a chance. I just want to find my wife and daughter. I don't want to have to hurt anyone if I don't need to."

Bucky chuffed and smiled again, but it was a sad smile. "I said something similar to Steve when we first met. Seems like a lifetime ago."

Clint was about to ask how long he and Steve had been friends when Steve returned with four small rabbits. He threw them on the ground next to the fire.

"Might as well roast them."

"Thanks Stevie," Bucky said and there was something tender in the way he said it.

Steve just sat down and started to skin the rabbits, not looking up at either of them. When the rabbits were ready, they all ate in silence.

***

When it was completely dark, Bucky set up a small pup-tent that was already covered in foliage next to the bigger tent. They must sew it on for camouflage, Clint thought and he couldn't help but admire how organized Bucky and Steve seemed to be. They must have been out here for a while.

"It's not much but it should keep some of the cold out. We don't have a spare sleeping bag I'm afraid, but we have a couple of blankets you can use."

"Look, I can't thank you enough for this," Clint said.

Bucky held up a hand. "I'd want someone to do the same for me." He gave Steve a pointed look when he said this. Steve's jaw clenched, his face lit by the firelight. He crawled into the bigger tent, not saying a word.

Bucky sighed softly. "Try and get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Clint nodded as Bucky started to stamp out the fire. The tent was small but he at least felt safe. He had seen the network of tin cans that had been set up as sound alarms in the surrounding trees and thought that he could react fast enough if there was danger. That was one skill he'd acquired since the outbreak at least - the ability to wake up in seconds if there was an unfamiliar noise.

He lay down and stared into the darkness. It was eerily quiet and he couldn't quite settle. _At least you've got a place to sleep_ , Clint thought. He was about to close his eyes and attempt to get some rest when he heard whispers from the next tent.

"Are you going to give me the silent treatment all night?" That was Bucky.

Silence.

"Stevie, come on. We couldn't have left him out here."

"You were all too ready to trust him. He could kill us in our sleep." Clint had to strain to hear him but Steve still sounded angry.

"He's not like the others. He has a family."

Steve laughed softly but it was bitter. "That means shit and you know it."

He heard the rustle of a sleeping bag. "The sketchbook he had, it belongs to his daughter. There were all these really sweet drawings of animals and food and then on one page...she'd drawn dead bodies. She's six years-old."

"Buck..."

"No. She needs her father. No kid should have to draw that kind of stuff to get it out of their head. I wasn't just going to tell him to be on his way." Bucky was still whispering but it was loud enough for Clint to hear. It was deliberate, he realized. Bucky wanted him to hear. "I need to believe that the people we set out to find still exist."

"You mean the _good_ people?" Steve hissed, his voice breaking. "Look at my face! Look at your arm! There aren't any. We're better off alone. We're..." There was a choked sob.

"Hey, come on. It's okay. Please don't cry. Shhh, Stevie."

"I just don't see why you were so quick to trust him and give him our food," Steve's voice sounded wet but no longer angry.

"Because some little ass-hat did the same for me once and it saved my life."

Steve laughed a little then. "You're a jerk, you know that?"

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ jerk." There was the unmistakable sound of kissing. "We could help him find his family."

Steve sighed and said something that Clint couldn't catch and then they both fell silent. He could understand Steve's distrust; when you had someone who you loved more than anything, it was hard to do something that might put them in danger. He listened for a while longer but it sounded like they had fallen asleep. He fell into restless dreams of his own.

***

It was light out when he woke. He felt rested but still tense. Were Nat and Katie okay? He had to believe that they were; Nat was tougher than anyone he knew. He rubbed his face and crawled out of the tent. Bucky was at the re-lit fire and Clint could smell coffee.

"Hey," Bucky said with a smile. "Sleep well?"

Clint came and sat next to him. "Not too bad, considering. Is Steve still asleep?"

Bucky poured him a plastic cup full of coffee. "He went hunting."

They sat in silence for a little while. The morning was crisp but clear. Clint thought they'd be able to hear any danger before it got to them and he relaxed a little.

"So, how long have you guys been together?" he asked.

"Just over a year. It's been rough." Bucky stared into the flames as they licked around the small coffee pot. "We've been through a lot, me and him. We've had to do things we're not proud of to keep each other safe. I made a promise to myself a while ago that I'd do anything for him. And...and I have." He looked at Clint. His eyes had a touch of grey to them, not as blue as Steve's but still just as piercing. "I need to show him that there are still things worth fighting for in this world besides the two of us."

Clint huddled closer to the fire. "There are. Believe me, there are. The scientists in our group - Tony, Bruce and Jane - they're incredible. The things they can do. We were planning on trying to set up in an abandoned town, get some power back, build things up again. If anyone can do it, they can." Clint didn't know why he was telling Bucky this but the look of... _wanting_ to believe on Bucky's face made him feel stronger. "There are good people in our group. I think we can make a difference, I really do. My wife, Natasha, she's a lot like Steve. It takes her a while to warm to anyone." He laughed. "Hell, took her a while to warm to me. But Katie...I don't want her to have to grow up in a world where there are no decent people left. She's never going to have a childhood but I need her to know that it's not all hopeless."

Bucky nodded. "I can't imagine what it's like for a kid to have to grow up in this." He sighed and looked older than he was. "We were safe, me and Steve. We had a safe house back in Massachusetts, enough food and water to last us for a long time but...things happened and we knew we weren't safe anywhere so we made the trip out here. It was tough. Tougher than we ever thought it would be. I often wonder if we made the right decision." He bit is lip and stared into the fire again.

Clint watched him. "What happened to your arm?"

Bucky's face went dark. "Outside of Indianapolis we got ambushed by a group of guys. They were the ones who gave Steve that scar. We were running from them and I was bitten. Steve...Steve cut off my arm before the infection spread. He saved my life again but he's never forgiven himself for having to do it. We've tried to avoid people if we can ever since."

"I'm sorry," Clint said softly.

"I'm still alive. Reminding him every day kind of reminds me too."

They sat in silence again, the sound of the fire crackling a source of comfort.

"Where are you guys headed?" Clint asked.

Bucky poured himself another cup of coffee. "I'm not sure. We came out here looking for Steve's aunt and...and my family but it didn't work out. Now I don't know."

Clint thought for a while. He liked to think that he was a good judge of character and he didn't think that Steve and Bucky were bad people. They cared about each other immensely, that much was clear. They had made it far together and that counted for a lot these days.

"If...if you were to help me find my family, you could join our group," Clint said carefully. "Like I said, we're mostly families but we need people who know how to survive. We have a committee. There is no one leader and if anyone fancies themselves a bit of a Hitler, they're out. Simple as that."

Bucky looked at him and Clint could see him not wanting to hope too badly. "You said your group was attacked. How can you be sure any of them are still alive?" He suddenly back-pedalled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that your wife and daughter..." He trailed off.

Clint gave him a grin. "You don't know Natasha. She'll have found some way to let me know where they're all headed. The others I think are fine. We got scattered but I have a strong feeling that they're okay. We've got some real badasses. The good kind."

"How could you be sure that your group would accept us?"

"You helped me when you didn't have to," Clint replied softly. "That's a foot in the metaphorical door at least."

Bucky turned back to the fire and was silent for a long time. "I would have to talk to Steve. He might be harder to convince."

Clint was about to respond when there was a noise in the underbrush behind them. Clint jumped to his feet but Bucky just turned around and smiled.

"Good hunting?"

Steve appeared and held up three Pheasants. "This answer enough?" He sounded brighter this morning. He nodded at Clint as he approached the fire, his eyes no longer full of anger and suspicion.

He leaned down and kissed Bucky lightly on the lips. "I'll run down to the creek and get some more water."

"I'll do it," Bucky said and stood, stretching. "You sit down and have some coffee." He shot Clint a look behind Steve's back and went to their tent to gather some water bottles before heading off.

Steve sat down awkwardly and Clint poured him some coffee.

"Thanks," Steve said.

Clint fed the fire some more twigs just to give himself something to do; he had no idea how to start a conversation that would convince Steve to help him.

"Want to help me prep these Pheasants?" Steve asked, bringing Clint out of his thoughts.

"Sure. I have no idea how though."

Steve scooted closer to him. "I'll show you." He started to walk through with Clint how to pluck the birds, how they should be gutted and prepared for the fire. It was actually kind of nice; Clint knew he didn't have many survival skills to speak of - cue him getting hopelessly lost in the Ozarks - so it was interesting for him to learn something that he could use again. Steve was actually very nice, yesterday aside, and Clint wondered if this was a test. Steve was leaving himself completely open to him and he thought that this had to be some kind of trust thing. Steve's rifle was in easy reach and Clint had no doubt that he would use it if he were to try anything. Not that he wanted to.

Bucky was gone for longer than was probably necessary but by the time he came back, Steve and Clint were arguing good-naturedly about baseball teams, their hands covered in feathers and Pheasant blood. Steve had a feather in his hair.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asked, plucking the feather from Steve's head.

"Fine," Clint said. "Except your boy knows crap-all about baseball."

Steve snorted.

For the rest of the day, they showed Clint the various little things they used to stay alive on a daily basis: How to cover a shelter and make it blend into the surroundings, what plants were edible, how to identify certain sounds and the animals that might be making them. Steve showed him how to tie a snare trap. Bucky showed him how to use the machete to cut away branches and bracken.

By nightfall they were all tired but Clint thought that something had been established between them. They talked amiably and as nice as it was, as safe as Clint felt right now, he was getting antsy. Natasha, Kate and the others could be getting further away from him with each hour that passed. He hoped that Bucky could talk to Steve soon because he was going to have to leave tomorrow, even if it meant going alone.

When they were all in bed, Clint could hear whispering from the next tent. It was low this time; Bucky obviously didn't want him to hear what was going on. Clint crossed his fingers and tried to get some sleep.

***

Bucky and Steve were both waiting for him the next morning, sitting side-by-side in front of the fire.

He stood outside the little pup-tent, nervous. "Good morning."

"We've decided to help you," Bucky said. Steve just watched him.

Clint let out a relieved breath. "Thank you."

"There are a few things you need to know first," Bucky said and indicated for Clint to sit. He waited anxiously.

"We're a unit," Bucky said and threaded his fingers through Steve's. "We won't be split up."

Clint nodded. "I understand."

"It might take us a while to adapt to a group setting. If your group even accepts us," Steve said. "We want to do our part, pull our weight but we'll need time to trust people. That might have to include us being left alone for a while."

"That's not an uncommon thing. It shouldn't be a problem," Clint said.

Bucky bit his lip and glanced at Steve. Steve squeezed his hand and nodded. "I've killed several people. Not zombies, people." He looked down at the ground. "I didn't want to but in all instances, it was because I had to. Not because I wanted to."

"I understand," Clint said softly. "If it meant killing someone to protect my family, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"When we find your group, I want to be able to explain that."

"It would be appreciated."

"Where were you and your group last? Any idea?" Steve asked.

"Near Pettigrew," Clint said.

"We know it." Bucky stood up. "We'll pack and head out now. The more ground we make up between you and them the better."

"I can't thank you enough for this," Clint said, his voice breaking. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Steve smiled then, his eyes bright. "Believe me, we do." He turned and looked at Bucky the way Clint knew he looked at Natasha. These were people the world needed if they were to try and make it better again. These were the people he wanted Kate to grow up surrounded by.

***

They packed away the camp efficiently and Clint was given a bigger pack of his own. Bucky and Steve seemed grateful not to have to carry as much. Clint noticed that they tried to leave the camp area as un-tampered with as they could.

"Is that so you can't be tracked?" Clint asked.

Steve brushed some leaves over the flattened area where their tent had been. "Partly. I kind of want to leave it nice for the wildlife too."

Bucky beamed at Steve then. "That's the kind of shit he's considerate about," he said to Clint and nuzzled at Steve's neck.

"Quit it," Steve said but he had a smile on his own face.

"Oh, before we go," Bucky said and held out a crossbow to Clint. He had no idea where they had got it or how he hadn't seen it until now. "You know how to use one of these?"

Clint took it. It was a Cerberus, a pretty decent one too. "I used to belong to an archery club. I think I can find my way around it."

"It only has two bolts," Steve said.

"Don't worry. I'll make them count."

They headed off together and Clint felt more hopeful than he had for days; of all the people he could have run into, it had been these two. He had no doubt in his mind that the rest of the group would accept them. He also saw the need in Bucky and Steve to be accepted into a place where people were still decent to each other, despite what was going on around them. He thought about Natasha and Kate and how much he loved them.

The three of them walked together, towards something good.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of zombie movies and had this story in mind for a while. While I like the whole zombie thing, I like the human aspect of post-apocalyptic stories more. I hope that came through with this fic! As always, I hope I've done something a little different with the subject matter.
> 
> Due to things happening in my personal life (nothing bad) I may be posting stories fewer and farther between this year. It's going to get harder for me to fit in fic writing but I'll still be doing my best to write whenever I can. Thanks to everyone who has been following my work and commenting or reccing me - it's appreciated so much and I hope I can keep up some decent quality of work, if not the quantity that I produce :)


End file.
